


Requiem

by Chaleureux



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, Magic, Necromancy, yami bakura almost burning the house down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 04:24:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14536578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaleureux/pseuds/Chaleureux
Summary: That was the whole reason he was so interested in the Millennium Items in the first place wasn’t it? If they could still bring Spirits back after death, then maybe there was a chance they could call Mother back too?





	Requiem

Ryou carried the carnations carefully as he made his way down the familiar path- soft and green, thankfully unlike the cramped grey cemeteries inside the city. It was an hour’s trip each way by train, not that he minded the ride, as it gave him ample time to work out his Campaigns, and he hardly ever bumped into kids from school leaving the city.

 

 

 

>     A gentle rain had settled in last night, washing everything clean. The ground was dry now but the worn stone graves seemed glad for the attention, free of the years of dirt that spoke of families that had long forgotten them.

>     Despite the calm atmosphere, the reason he was here today left him with a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Still, he hadn’t made up his mind yet- so he could console himself that there wasn’t a reason to be worried.

>     He came to the group of graves that belonged to his family, noting that the flowers he had left the prior month had been cleared away, nothing left to rot. He faintly wondered how recently his father had been there as he deposited the flowers into the large stone urn that was part of his mother’s grave, freeing his arms.

>     A smile played on his face as he moved to the second grave. “ _Calm down- I didn’t forget you!_ ” He grabbed the bag slung over his shoulder and produced from it a chain of small yellow and white flowers entwined with tiny leaves, clearly somewhat worse from the journey. “ _I grew them myself. The new apartment actually has a balcony to it- I thought you’d want to see them_ .” He draped the chain around the statue of the guardian that stood watch over his little sister. “ _I hope you and mom have been doing well? I know you’re not going to like why I’m here today, but please try to be reasonable about it._ ”

>     He returned to the bag, and to his mother’s grave, placing sticks of sweet-smelling incense upon it, kneeling and bowing his head in a silent prayer.

>     He checked for people nearby before speaking, his voice barely a whisper, _“I need to ask you something.._.” He took a breath before his words came spilling forward, _“I’ve been doing some…research and I think I might know a way to bring you home._ ” a pause “ _I know- it’s probably nonsense, but what if it’s not?_ ” He was suddenly aware just how empty the area around him had grown. The Ring tucked under his shirt felt too warm against his skin. He leaned forward until his forehead brushed the headstone, closing his eyes. “ _I think I have what I need now to make it work_.”

>  He didn’t need an answer to know that his mother didn’t want him messing with black magic. “ _But what choice do I he have?”_ he thought. Besides- with the Millennium Ring in his life, he felt he had very little reason to still fear the darkness. This was what had driven Ryou’s interest in the Millenium Items in the first place. _If they could still bring Spirits from death, then maybe there’s still a chance they could call Mother back too.”_ At least this is what he told himself.

>     He checked for people again before producing a knife and a small muslin pouch from his bag. Before setting to work cutting away at a patch of grass until he could dig his fingers into the cool wet earth beneath. “ _Please, forgive me._ ” His cupped palms moved handfuls of the grave-dirt into the pouch, before slipping both pouch and knife back into his bag quickly before anyone could notice him. He stood, placing a now filthy open palm on the grave marker bowing his head again, “I just…want to see you again.”
> 
> * * *
> 
>                                                                                                      _-Later that night-_

* * *

                    Though he had showered and changed into his nightclothes, his bedroom currently offered very little in the way of rest. He’d been so wrapped up in trying to figure out what he actually needed for the ritual to work that the amount of his bed that wasn’t taken up by the ancient looking book of magic was covered in crossed out and underlined notes on translations he had paid someone with actual training in Latin to make for him. It had been like this for more than a week, with the boy simply collapsing beside his work at night. At least his father hadn’t been in town to complain about it. He reviewed the translated list of ritual components again and decided it was time to gather the last element he would need.

 

 

 

>     He approached the family shrine in his home, opening the wooden doors carefully. As he smiled at the last photo his family has taken together, guilt for what he was about to do filled his stomach again. He took out a small wooden box he had carved lifting from it a simple silver necklace, which had been given to him by his father as a young child. It housed a small amount of his mother’s ashes, and on one side the words: “ _Never forget you are loved_ ” were engraved. He had kept it with him for many years before the Spirit had made keeping anything too precious on his person a risk. He closed his fingers around the token and held it close to his heart for a moment before silently steeling his resolve.

>        He returned to his room and started arranging everything on his desk, which had been cleaned of all his model making equipment and covered with a clean cloth. Three white candles sat along the back of the desk and in the center sat a stone bowl around which he arranged the ritual components in a semicircle, then encircled once more by a mixture of salt and crushed herbs, filling the room with an almost medicinal scent.

>     He was repeating the words to the ritual in his mind as he worked, certain he had the words memorized but only half as certain of their pronunciations. He focused entirely on the words as he opened his desk drawer, retrieved his hobby knife and slotted in a clean new blade before setting it to the side.

> **_“Yadonushi…”_ **

>     The voice in his head broke his mental repetition briefly, but he returned to his task as he started to light the candles, intent on blocking out the intrusion.

> He emptied the soil into the bowl, trying to envision the outcome he wanted to achieve. That wasn’t difficult, the image of his mother’s face was still as fresh in his mind as if he had never lost her.

>     The Ring was glowing now. Again, he was aware of its heat. Though it was meant as a warning it did nothing to scare him. Instead he felt emboldened him to push forward, assured that at least the magic of the item was active if only he could control it.

> **_“Stop this.”_ **

>     Ryou held the image if his mother steady in his mind, trying to imagine the energy resonating from the Ring enveloping her image as picked up the words, trying to match the cadence he had built up in his mind.

> _“Corpore de mater inque_

> _Solis aram perferre atque adolere”_

>     He carefully twisted off the threaded bail of his cremation locket hesitating only for a moment before pouring the contents into the bowl.

> _“Ex cineribus et in astra“_

>     The Ring was hot enough to burn his skin now, though his voice did not waver -he could feel his hands were shaking. He knew he needed to move fast before the Spirit took control of his body.

>     He reached for the blade beside him, and with as much fluidity as he could manage, placed the blade on his ruined left palm. Having already decided that if something went wrong, he would prefer not to damage his good hand.

>     The edges of his vision had started to blur. He drew the blade across his skin sharply, opening a new gash across the long healed scar. He braced for pain, but it didn’t come. The knife clattered to the floor and he was now aware he was losing feeling in his limbs. He could still move his hands-sensation or not.  He made a hard fist to encourage the blood to travel into the bowl. Bracing the weight of his failing body against the desktop with his now free right hand.

> _“Sanguis sanguinis mei”_

>     His words slurred now, and there was a sharp pain in his head, about to drag his mind into the darkness. He focused all his remaining resolve on speaking the final words.

> _“Ex cineribus renascor”_

>   With that-he allowed the Spirit take over. The last thing he would be able to recall was not the sensation, but the sound, of his body falling onto the wooden floor.


End file.
